


yours was a good heart for me

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was right about the <i>end of the world</i>, and Derek needing something to remember him by just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yours was a good heart for me

**Author's Note:**

> from my [tumblr meme](http://felicitysmock.tumblr.com/post/100106066862/sterek-being-reunited-after-surviving-the-zombie) as requested.

_3rd April, ~~2013~~  2015 we had sex in a broken down car wash. can check off steamy hand prints on a window from the bucket list. FUCK YEAH._

Stiles kept a log of everything. The camp stopped counting days, calendars were useless, phones had no signal, time was measured purely in trips in and out of the gate. Footfall, heads at tables, mouths being fed, those were what mattered to the Sheriff, to everyone in charge. It didn’t make a difference if it was a Tuesday or a Thursday. 

But, Stiles needed something to commemorate the day, to have it written down, and Derek found a journal on one of their scouting trips, brought it back and tossed it on the bed. 

"To stop you scraping damn notches on the bed post," he’d remarked. 

Stiles had laughed, smirked at him even as his eyes were fond and filled with gratitude, “Everyone else thinks they’re for something else.”

"They must think we have a great deal of stamina," Derek had replied, dropping down on the lumpy mattress. 

Stiles had hummed, run dirty but gentle fingers through Derek’s hair, “Or, that we’re desperate and frantic at the end of the world.”

"Is that why you kissed me last year, then?"

"Nope, I would have done that eventually; I’ve always been desperate about you, obviously."

"Obviously," Derek had repeated drily, buried his face in Stiles’ thigh, listened to him write something on the first page, his heartbeat fill the room. 

"Thanks for humoring me," Stiles’d murmured later, nose inches from Derek’s. 

Derek had shrugged, stroked his hand slowly up Stiles’ arm, still sticky with cooling sweat from the quiet-- _don't let anyone else hear this one tiny moment we get to ourselves_ \-- sex they’d just had. 

"Who else is gonna write about me."

"Oh, so you think this is gonna be a diary all about my dumb feelings for you?"

"I wouldn’t call them dumb, wise if you ask me."

"No one asked."

"What are you gonna write about then?"

Stiles had sighed, scratched his nose and let his hand fall to Derek’s back, tugging him closer, always tightly pressed together on the too small bed. 

"You’re right, I’m probably gonna write about you. About this. Us."

"In case you forget?"

"No, in case, you know, just in case…"

And Derek had nodded, shut his eyes and leant in to kiss him softly. 

_Just in case._

Don’t go out of the gate angry,  _just in case_. 

Don’t fall behind,  _just in case_. 

Don’t lose sight of the only person you’d have burnt the world for,  _just in case_. 

In case they don’t come back. 

_19th July, ~~2013~~  2015 it’s been raining through three days straight. IN JULY. must be the end of fuckin’ days, man. Derek looks v sexy wet, though. Scott is here, and pulling a face at this, HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND LIKE U DO, DIARY._

Derek keeps the journal in his jacket pocket. It’s nestled in with a grenade and a hunting knife Allison gave him once. There’s an inscription carved on the side,  _For CA, for everything we believe in, VA_. It’s ugly and ironic that Derek carries a knife once owned by an Argent to protect himself with. 

Allison has more knives on her person than anything else. She hunts with Derek, never asks him to talk about his feelings the way Scott tries to. She never pretends he’s not hurting, or that he’s not interested in anything more than survival, than keeping those they have left safe. When all of this is over Derek has no idea what he’ll do with himself. He hasn’t got anything left to live for, no family to build a home with. He had a chance, he had his just in case person, and he blew it, again.

There’s anniversaries marked in red pen that he looks at every night. The fires they keep burning no longer light up Stiles’ face, no longer draw Derek across to where Stiles is lounging around with Scott, or talking with his father. Instead, the Sheriff sits and stares into the flames, as lost as Derek. Derek doesn’t have the responsibility of a town to distract himself with, can’t focus on anything more than going out and killing them, coming back to camp and reading from the journal. 

_12th October, ~~2013~~  2015, Derek caught a rabbit and presented it to me like we live in cave times. Am a v lucky cave man to have such nice provider. Derek glaring about descript—_

Derek hasn’t known a life without violence in more than a decade. There have been people that wanted him dead, wanted nothing more than his blood on the ground for his entire life. The virus destroying the States only evened out the playing field between Derek and the rest of civilisation. He, and the pack were lucky only by the small amount of practice they’d already had at trying to stay alive. 

Stiles was a mean shot, and taught Derek everything he knew. In turn, Derek taught him hand to hand combat on the lawn of the Sheriff’s department. Stiles would complain whenever Derek took his shirt off— called it an unfair advantage on Derek’s behalf— and yet Derek ended up on his back on the grass just as much, distracted by Stiles’ hands, or legs or his everything. 

Lydia compiled lists. She makes notes still, jots down facts, anything and everything from their trips. 

Scott talks of towns rebuilding and of cures. 

Melissa clucks her tongue and cleans bandages. 

_21st October, ~~2013~~  2015 DAD’S BIRTHDAY. CHRIS ARGENT BROUGHT WHISKEY. LOVE CHRIS ARGENT. WE MADE A PILLOW FORT. ME AND DEREK!!!!! NOT CHRIS ARGENT AND ME. LOVE CHRIS ARGENT THOUGH. LOVE WHISKEY. LOVE DERek._

"There’s less of them," Allison murmurs, yanking out one of her remaining arrows from a fallen’s eye.

Derek hums, kicks another one over just to check they’re  _dead_  dead. The first time he found one in a grey plaid shirt just like the one— he hadn’t been able to stick to protocol, had turned it over with his hands, eyes watering, throat burning, but it hadn’t been him. 

It’s never him, and Derek can’t say if it’s worse to not know, or worse to imagine. 

"How can you tell?"

"Doesn’t the air smell less thick to you?"

Derek shrugs non-committally; mostly the air smells of death to him, burnt ozone. He can’t bring himself to scent as much as he used to, either— Stiles’ scent used to travel on the air to Derek no matter how far away they were from each other— now, there’s nothing crisp and fresh and calling him home on the wind, just death. 

"It smells like it always does," he says finally. 

Allison sighs, twists her wedding ring around on her finger— it had been their last normal day. Stiles and Derek had danced twice. Derek had been going to ask, been finally ready to take the chance, and then the tornado sirens had gone off, and all Derek remembers is grabbing Stiles’ hand and Allison whipping off her veil. 

They’d found the Sheriff, moved as a unit through the town as people had gone nuts around them. Stiles and Scott had talked of movies like  _I Am Legend_  and  _Resident Evil_ , and Derek had scoffed at the very idea. They’d been right, though and Derek should have learnt then. 

He should always have accepted Stiles was right. 

Stiles was right about Derek wanting him to kiss him. 

Stiles was right about them sharing a bed being their own private solace away from the rest of the crappy ashen world.

Stiles was right about the  _end_  of the world, and Derek needing something to remember him by just in case. 

Because Derek hadn’t seen him. 

There’d been a swarm, and Stiles had been luring them away. Derek had been fending off a dozen of them with a girl they’d found crying and cowering behind him. They’d only survived because Allison had been overhead, firing down at the damn  _zombies_. He’d looked up, across to where Stiles had been running and nothing. 

Nothing. 

_13th November, ~~2013~~  2015 told Derek I loved him in an empty pool. we were scavenging and he found this dumb bear we could take back for one of the kids. couldn’t help myself. he looked confused, and then v grave, and then kissed me till it was dark and dad went nuts when we got back in late. worth it. I love him._

There’s a helicopter overhead, and Derek squints up at the bright sky. 

"Dude," Scott breathes out. "What’s it doing."

"Flying," Derek replies. 

"Thank you," Scott huffs, rubs a hand over his beard thoughtfully. 

Stiles would kill himself laughing over Scott’s beard. He’d tease him endlessly about copying Derek, and then tease Derek about copying a mountain man. Derek would do anything to be hearing him laugh at them instead of a helicopter whirring above them.

A box is tossed over the side, and Scott lets out a warning shout. They hurry to load weapons as the box falls in the town square, Allison and the Sheriff darting out of the town hall. 

"Don’t touch it," Derek warns, striding over to it. "They might think we’re infected—"

"Then don’t you get any damn closer, either!" The Sheriff yells back, "Derek!"

Derek opens the box, hasn’t got anything left to lose, it’s the most selfish thing he’s done in three months. 

There’s medical supplies inside. 

He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not. 

Melissa and the Sheriff lecture him as they empty the box between them. 

"You’re a damn fool, kid."

"I’d rather it was me than you," he argues, "And, I’m nearly thirty," he adds childishly. 

Melissa arches an eyebrow like she’s thinking just that. 

"How d’you think Scott would feel if you died, Derek? All of us. If you died, too—" she stops and looks at the floor. 

The Sheriff’s gone still beside her and Derek can’t breathe, heart squeezing too tightly. 

"I’ll be in our room," he mutters, leaves with heavy feet. He so wants to be going back to a warm bed, and a sleepy Stiles. 

The room is cold, and he uses his jacket as a pillow, balled up under his head instead of either of the two he keeps together. They still faintly smell like Stiles. 

_25th December, ~~2013~~  2015 it’s Christmas and I gave Derek a scarf Isaac helped me knit. he looked torn between horror at the lurid purple color (all we could find) and happy his beloved gave him something he can carry around. AM I NOT A THOUGHTFUL PROVIDER, TOO, NO?_

"Derek," Lydia snags a finger in his shirt label, tugs him up from his meagre breakfast, "I need your thoughts."

"I was thinking of finishing my breakfast—"

"Like anyone would dare make off with that disgusting porridge you insist on eating."

Derek scowls at her, and Lydia rolls her eyes, beckoning him towards the post office where the only working computer is kept. The generator will run out in a year, Derek wonders if he can go as far as LA to find a spare, wonders if the Sheriff would let him, knowing how he is these days. 

Reckless. Stupid. Self-sacrificing. 

Stiles would call him infuriating. Stiles would tape up his cuts and kiss the side of his head fiercely before stalking off to their bathroom and slamming the door. 

Derek doubts the Sheriff would ever be giving him kisses to make him feel better. 

Lydia taps at the screen, “I’ve been marking off clean, safe spaces once you and Allison have cleared them. Been keeping tallies if you like, and this—” she frowns at the map in front of them, “This is baffling.”

"HMO?"

"No, they’re further west. This is on the ocean."

"This entire area is free of disease? Clean?"

"Maybe," she turns to look at him, "I wouldn’t ask in front of anyone else, but—"

"You want me to investigate."

"Yes. With the helicopters and the possible traffic you and Scott are hearing," Lydia purses her lips, tries to look less than hopeful and fails with shining eyes. "Derek, it could be over soon."

Derek resists the temptation to point out it  _is_  over, for him at least. 

His friends will have the chance for new lives, to rebuild, restart, and Derek… Derek doesn’t have anyone to begin again with.

_3rd January, ~~2014~~  2016 told Derek he was an asshole. scared me half to death. got bit. so fucking lucky he’s a god damn werewolf or i’d kill him myself. if you’re reading this over my shoulder i hate you, Derek Hale._

Derek’s packed up and ready to leave at dawn. Allison throws her bag in beside his. 

"Scott will kill—"

"Scott’s coming," Scott interrupts from behind them. 

"The town—"

"Will be fine," Scott’s looking at Allison, though. "I’m not watching you leave without me."

Allison glances between them, and Derek pretends a tree in the distance is fascinating. He used to have a conversation like this once. 

"Alright," Allison says softly, "But, I’m riding shotgun."

Scott laughs, and it’s been years since Derek heard it. By the look on her face, it’s been a while for Allison, too. 

The drive is quiet, oddly peaceful. Derek rests his free hand in his pocket, thumbs the spine of the journal. It’s beginning to fall apart. 

They come across people sometimes, trade gum and stories. Some nights Derek smells smoke, and others he can’t sleep at all, watches the sky and waits. One day, soon. 

"If something happens to me—" he begins one afternoon, not too far from the area Lydia circled.

They’ve been travelling for a week, and come hundreds of miles. Derek’s beard is worse than ever, and even Allison, the most hygienic of all three of them, is beginning to wane. 

"Don’t," Scott interrupts. 

"I can’t not," he insists in a tone he hopes is gentle. He can’t really remember how to pitch his voice kindly. For a year it was softer, he supposes, but then— now, it’s not. "If I die, you have to tell the Sheriff there’s a hoodie of Stiles’ in a box under the bed. He should— have it." 

"Fine, then if I die—"

"Babe!"

"We’re all doing it, if Derek’s getting morbid," Alison shoots him a look, "We should at least get to join in. If I die you have to tell my father about the time we had sex in his car."

"Oh my god," Scott groans, hits his head agains the window. "You’re both awful."

"But, you love us," Allison teases. 

And, it’s such a Stiles thing to say, an irritating, pointless sort of come back that used to make Derek grind his teeth and loath to do anything but huff agreement. He does. He did. 

He smiles, swallows hard and keeps his eyes on the road. 

"Scott, if you die should I tell your mom about the time you stole my car?"

"No! Everyone shut up about dying! We’re not going to die, we’re going to— woah—" Scott presses his nose up against the glass suddenly and Derek and Allison crane their necks to look where he’s staring. 

There’s a huge wall. It goes on for as far as they can see in each direction. 

"This is it," Derek murmurs to them, "This is the area Lydia says is clean."

"No wonder," Allison breathes out, "If it’s quarantined." 

There’s a man at a gate where the road ends, and the wall begins. 

"Name?" He scans something in Derek’s eyes as he asks. 

"Derek Hale."

"Passengers?"

"Scott McCall, Allison McCall."

"Uh huh," he beckons for Allison to lean over, and for Scott to do the same so he can scan their eyes, too. "Been inside before?"

"No, look, is this—"

"This is Haven Four, sir, one of eleven site on the west coast that are clear from infection—" something beeps on his scanner, and he waves an arm up in the air. The gate clangs open and he gestures for them to roll inside, follows them in leisurely. "You leave your car in this section here, check out anything you take with you, hand over your weapons—" he holds out a hand for them, and Derek balks. 

"We’re not looking to start a fight."

"Neither am I, sir, that’s why I need your weapons."

Allison passes him her revolver, and neither Scott or Derek flinch knowing her crossbow’s still tied across her back under her jacket. The guard pats her down, Scott next and then Derek. He pulls out the journal and a page shreds. Derek punches him in the face. 

_2nd February, ~~2014~~  2016 found a tape player with a Bob Seger tape in!! listened to it with Derek. sex to Against The Wind surprisingly meaningful. shut up with that face you’re pulling if you read this, Derek. u know what u like to call it._

"Was a misunderstanding," Scott’s saying above him. 

Derek growls, aware there’s something cold and heavy against the back of his head, one of his arms pulled up sharp behind his back. Derek waits for him to do it, hopes Scott can’t talk him out of it, thinks of Stiles caught up in the sheets and throwing himself at Derek, stopping him from getting up and making him laugh, tumbling back into the pillows with him. He thinks of his smile, and the way he looked at Derek like he mattered, like he would feel it if Derek went missing, if Derek died he would mourn him, like he loved Derek the way Derek loved him, heart and soul. 

Derek feels as if he doesn’t have any soul to lose now. 

"We’ve had a lot of folk lookin’ for trouble. Tryin’ to take over—"

"We’re not here for that," Scott promises. "We came to find out if it’s safe, we’ve been monitoring the area. There’s four hundred of us and a Sheriff— Sheriff Stilinski, Beacon Hills."

"Stilinski?"

"Yes, yeah," Scott hesitates, "What, you know him?"

"No," the guard’s hand loosens on Derek’s arm and he touches the radio on his chest. 

Derek pants breathlessly, looks up at Scott. Allison’s hand creeps behind her back to rest on her crossbow. 

"Yeah, gemme Stilinski, some kid’s talking about a Sheriff with his name, his dad, right?"

"Are you kidding? Yo, Stilinski— your pop still alive?"

“‘Course he fucking is, if you’d just let me go—”

"With a broken leg? Dumbass, how you gonna take on Creepers like that—"

"You’re the worst, Jones."

"You want a help down the stairs or what, kid?"

"Yeah, hold on."

Derek snaps his head up at the voice, ears ringing in shock, mouth dry. His hands fall uselessly to his sides. 

The guy starts talking again, and Derek watches Scott move forward, a door in the wall open and— 

It can’t be. 

_Stiles._

Stiles is alive. 

Scott’s shouting, running across to him and Allison’s crying, hurrying to join them. 

Derek staggers to his feet, afraid to blink for fear he’ll lose the mirage. 

Stiles is on crutches, thinner than he was, but his eyes meet Derek’s over Scott’s head and they’re vibrant and they  _know_  Derek. They’re looking at Derek like he’s being seen for the first time in one hundred and twenty four days. And Derek— Derek stumbles towards him on feet that aren’t working properly. 

"You’re—"

He half falls into Stiles’ arms, and Stiles is  _real_ , solid, kissing the side of his head fiercely, holding him tight. 

"Yeah, yeah, Derek I’m so sorry—"

Derek pulls back and kisses him, kisses him desperately. His hands slide up to cup Stiles’ face, and he feels Stiles’ hands catch in his jacket, cling on to him as his crutches fall to the floor. It’s okay, though, Stiles can lean on Derek, Derek’ll never let him fall, he won’t, he can’t—

"”M’sorry, ‘m’sorry, I woke up here and I didn’t know— I couldn’t come for you yet."

"It’s okay," Derek presses their foreheads together, hard enough that it hurts, that he can feel it in his bones and laughs, "You’re alive."

"Yeah," Stiles trails his fingers through Derek’s hair, smiles widely as he runs them along Derek’s face, eyes shining when he bites his lip, laughs breathlessly, "God, I love you. I never stopped thinking— I just had to wait—"

"I was waiting," Derek murmurs, "I was— I didn’t do well without you."

"I can tell," Stiles laughs hysterically again, "You look like shit," he clings to Derek tightly as Derek kisses his cheek, leans back to look him in the eye again, "You’re the best god damn thing I ever laid eyes on, though."

_15th August, ~~2014~~  2016 they think they’ve got it sorted, so i guess Derek’ll have to build me a house now._


End file.
